Blog master - GARDENS, WEEDS & WORDShttp://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/Tue, 22 May 2018 15:05:44 +0000en-GBSite-Server v6.0.0-14284-14284 (http://www.squarespace.com)RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018Plant showsAndrew O'BrienTue, 22 May 2018 18:03:57 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/rhs-chelsea-flower-show-2018-156606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5b0431c8758d46ba38717fe1If Chelsea is to be any more than the (admittedly rather fabulous) latte
froth upon the upper lip of the horticultural industry, it needs to have
something to say, not only to gardeners like you and me, but to homeowners
with an emerging interest in their outside space, to indoor gardeners with
not so much as a balcony and, I’d venture to suggest, to park bench
philosophers.First impressions

The first of two posts on this year’s event

While other areas of the traditional media – everywhere from the Financial Times to Lord Rothermere’s Toilet Roll – have been speculating about the sponsorship of the the RHS’s flagship event, we can get on with talking about the plants and gardens. After all, that should be what it’s all about. But if Chelsea is to be any more than the (admittedly rather fabulous) latte froth upon the upper lip of the horticultural industry, it needs to have something to say, not only to gardeners like you and me, but to homeowners with an emerging interest in their outside space, to indoor gardeners with not so much as a balcony and, I’d venture to suggest, to park bench philosophers.

Chelsea made me work harder this year.

On the show gardens, the judges are looking for consistency to the designer’s brief, excellence in execution with both the hard and soft landscaping, and horticultural coherence, which would frown upon, for example, grouping plants together which couldn’t possibly flourish in the same conditions in a real garden. (In fact, if you want to know exactly what the judges are looking for, you could do worse than listen to the first episode of the Virgin Gardener Podcast, where Laetitia and I get the goods straight from the horse’s mouth. Or at least, directly from RHS judge James Alexander-Sinclair, which is more or less the same thing.)

So much for the official process. Like most people when it comes to Chelsea, I’m looking for gardens I’d like to hang out in. These are the gardens that offer a shot of undiluted delight straight into the brain’s reward circuit, gardens of instant gratification. I am a lazy animal, and lazy animals like to get their kicks with as little effort as possible. But, ascending the mental effort gradient a little, there are those gardens I might not be able to picture myself hanging out in, but from which I can pinch ideas to incorporate into a garden where I would feel comfortable (unapologetically, back to comfort in the garden because, after all, who chooses to sit in a patch of nettles when there’s a nice grassy knoll at hand?). And then, if there’s none of that, I ratchet up the mental effort’O’meter for those gardens where it’s both interesting and illuminating to wonder why I’m finding things such a challenge; where tracking down the cause of my discomfort might just tell me something about myself, how I relate to my surroundings, and how that might play out in my gardening activities.

There was a lot of this latter kind of thing at Chelsea for me this year. To the extent that, by the end of press day, it wasn’t only my feet that were aching, but the little grey cells too.

Gone are the big lawns. There’s usually a goodly few neatly manicured, large green swards dotted around, giving your brain time to take stock and make sense of everything you’re seeing. Of course, you don’t need a lawn for that. The same effect can be achieved just as well, if not better, with an expanse of paving or some other hard landscaping material. Blank space thinky time…fluffy bits round the edges to ooh and aah over. This year, it was busy – plants everywhere, in huge drifts, crammed into spaces in walls, springing up from gravel, arranged in imposing ranks of spires. There was even a chamomile lawn which looked like a green yeti had decided to lie down for a quick nap. No thinking time, just plants, plants, plants, coming at you. It was full on.

One of the reasons this isn’t done particularly often, is it’s very hard to do well in a show garden. To an extent the effect has been made far easier to achieve with species that are suitable for inclusion in a wildflower turf mix, such as you might see on the more naturalistic looking gardens, but to plant individual specimens in pots (which many of them are) in anything resembling realistic plant communities is a skill in itself and, when it’s done well, the result feels like a garden in possession of a past. But when it’s not finessed, it feels like a slightly frigid container planting.

Where it was done well…

Sarah Price’s planting always takes my breath away – she has such an eye for plants with graceful beauty but also strength. Though not a garden which will strike people as traditionally “pretty”, the M&G garden is the perfect showcase for what she does, and will reward time spent admiring the planting and the geometry of the spaces she has created. There are so many little corners I’d like to sit in with a book and lose an hour or two while the sun moves round.

Detail from the M&G garden designed by Sarah Price, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Detail from the M&G garden designed by Sarah Price, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Detail from the M&G garden designed by Sarah Price, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Jo Thompson does many things well, and one of her strengths seems to be reflective retreats in which water is a key feature. The planting in the Wedgwood Garden was delicate and naturalistic, but with just the right amount of colour to pop.

Detail from the Wedgwood garden designed by Jo Thompson, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

The Trailfinders South African garden by Jonathan Snow quite blew my gardening socks off when I viewed it end on from Main Avenue, with its depiction of the rugged fynbos landscape. Proteas, knifophia and agapanthus are all jostling for space with pelargoniums and leonotis among the rocks in a semi-arid environment. I absolutely loved the attention to detail and the depth of the planting, becoming more lush as you move into the garden, away from the wilder landscape and towards the house.

Detail from the Trailfinders South Africa garden designed by Jonathan Snow, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

There is, then, a level of detail in the planting that’s required in order for you to suspend disbelief and experience momentarily the showpiece as a real garden. In the David Harber & Saville garden, this was present in the middle of the plot, but sadly seemed to peter out a little towards the edges, frustratingly those edges nearest to the viewer. So, while there were many strong structural elements in a garden – which admittedly had to wrestle with a truly cosmic concept (the description describes “mankind’s evolving relationship with the environment”, “pivotal wormholes” and “a theoretical space-time passage”, for much of which I’m sure ointment is available), and the planting really did have moments of glorious movement and colour and even delicacy – it didn’t quite inform the entirety of the garden.

Detail from the David Harber and Saville garden, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

The conceptual

Any design, to give it some integrity, needs to have an element of underlying concept, and it’s a measure of the designer’s skill as to how this is manifest in the final piece. It can be woven effortlessly through garden, barely apparent, or sit heavily upon it, and there are times when either approach might be appropriate.

The Pearlfisher Garden by Karen Welman and John Warland was unashamed in its presentation of a garden allegory for the sorry state of our plastic-filled oceans, combining terrestrial succulent plants in a representation of coral formations, around tanks filled with fish and aquatic plants, set in stone paving with visible fossils, the gaps between slabs filled with crushed shells, and patches of Lithops like some kind of sea urchin. Around the wall, a line from Ariel’s melancholy song from The Tempest set the tone, while the ends of plastic bottles perforated the walls. A worthy message, but what’s it got to do with making “Space to Grow” – the section of the show ground in which it appeared? Two things spring immediately to mind – the almost perfect synergy between indoor, or restricted outdoor space gardening, and succulents and air plants, and an increased awareness among the very demographic most effected by elevated housing prices about plastic waste, which is already showing signs of influencing the horticultural industry in terms of the attitude to packaging and waste. Not to a degree in which anyone should feel complacent, but the pressure is on to seek out biodegradable, sustainable materials rather than simply choosing the easiest option.

Detail from the Pearlfisher garden designed by Karen Welman and John Warland RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Detail from the Pearlfisher garden designed by Karen Welman and John Warland RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Naomi Ferrett-Cohen’s Cherub HIV garden: A Life Without Walls was one of those gardens based on a journey through a process experienced by someone afflicted by a mental or physical condition – highlighting, in this case, the possibility of living a life openly and healthily with HIV. Amongst other devices, it used the symbolism of a path and a broken wall, and a colour palette restricted to white and grey in the hard landscaping, transitioning from white and green in the planting at one end to plum coloured lupins, purple and yellow aquilegias. The narrative was undeniably worthy, but I was rather more charmed by the dwarf pines, the acer and the white ragged robin.

Detail from the Cherub HIV: A Life Without Walls garden designed by Naomi Ferrett-Cohen RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Detail from the Cherub HIV: A Life Without Walls garden designed by Naomi Ferrett-Cohen RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Also in the Space to Grow section was the Silent Pool Gin garden from David Neale. This featured some beautifully realised hard landscaping, from the Purbeck stone wall, the oak timber deck around the pool and the textured Portland stone paving, and while I loved the cool blues of Anchusas and blue Meconopsis poppies throughout, accented here and there by orange geums and given texture with cow parsley (you can’t have a Chelsea without Anthriscus), the real lesson for small gardens was the use of large, multi-stemmed shrubs pruned to allow space for underplanting in the dappled shade below, while contributing height and presence to the space.

Detail from the Silent Pool Gin garden designed by David Neale, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Hard landscaping

The hard landscaping was on point. “It always is”, I was reminded by blogging buddy Sarah Shoesmith of the Gardening Shoe blog, as we grabbed a bite to eat with friends. She’s not wrong. Two gardens which were breathtaking in this respect were the LG Eco City Garden by Hay-Joung Hwang and the VTB Capital Spirit of Cornwall Garden from Stuart Charles Towner. The latter of these used a series of curved, white stone platforms contrasted with a deck and garden room of black steel in a waveform pattern, set in a lush, semi-tropical planting with Dicksonia tree ferns and gunneras, reminiscent of the gardens at Trebah. Accessory selection was faultless here too, and the seating and table not only matched but emphasised the entire effect.

Detail from the VTP Capital Spirit of Cornwall garden designed by Stuart Charles Towner, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

I didn’t feel much of the Barbara Hepworth vibe, which was apparently key to the garden, though it did feel Cornish, in no way diminished by having as a neighbour across Main Avenue the fabulous steam-bent wooden creations of Cornish craftsman Tom Raffield.

The LG Eco City Garden featured a very slick stone, glass and steel pavilion, set in a garden filled with orange and yellow lupins and geums with white foxgloves, and wafty box hedging around a sunken eating area. This is the garden with the furry chamomile lawn, traversed on wide white stone slabs which carried through across the other side of the sunken area to the pavilion at the rear.

Detail from the LG Eco City garden designed by Hay-Joung Hwang, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Detail from the LG Eco City garden designed by Hay-Joung Hwang, RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018

Next time: come back soon for my next blog post on the RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018; more gardens, a closer look at some garden details, and of course the real stars of the show – the plants.

Have you been to Chelsea yet, or are you going later in the week? I’d love to hear what you think of this year’s show, either on twitter or in the comments below.

]]>RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2018Stihl cordless hedgetrimmersToolsAndrew O'BrienTue, 15 May 2018 13:39:32 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/stihl-cordless-hedgetrimmers56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5af882ce03ce64f8a784a3c1Behind every glorious garden, whether the overriding style be neatly formal
or wondrously wafty, there’s a machine-wielding gardener keeping the
underlying structure in trim. It’s as necessary in a small domestic garden
as a large public one, and in this post I’ll be putting machines aimed at
both ends of the spectrum through their paces.Behind every glorious garden, whether the overriding style be neatly formal or wondrously wafty, there’s a machine-wielding gardener keeping the underlying structure in trim. It’s as necessary in a small domestic garden as a large public one, and in this post I’ll be putting through their paces battery-powered machines aimed at both ends of the spectrum.

Regular readers of the Gardens, Weeds & Words blog will know that I’ve been looking into gradually replacing my petrol gardening tools with their cordless battery counterparts. Last year I trialled a hedge trimmer from the new-to-me brand EGO Power+ (you can read my review of their HT5100E here), but I was particularly delighted to be asked by Stihl to have an in-depth look at their cordless hedge trimmers.

Stihl are a German brand whose quality tools are respected throughout the horticultural, landscaping and arboricultural sectors, and their characteristic orange and white livery is a familiar sight to those of us who work within those industries. I’ve gone on record to confess the joy I feel when working with particularly well thought-out hand tools in the garden, but there are many occasions when time constraints mean I need a little extra help, and when a machine is required it’s invariably to this brand that I will turn. There’s something about the build quality and ergonomics that inspires confidence, at least with the two-stroke kit. Would this brand loyalty transfer to the new battery tools? I was keen to find out.

Stihl’s Battery Power portfolio covers the full range of tools, including chainsaws, grass trimmers, brushcutters, leaf blowers and mowers. The technology is based on Lithium Ion cells, which charge quickly and suffer none of the memory-effect problems that caused Ni-Cad batteries to gradually lose their ability to return to full capacity. There are three sub-ranges aimed at different kinds of customer – the Lithium Ion PRO range for professional use, the Lithium Ion COMPACT range for medium to large gardens, and the Lithium Ion range for small gardens. Having been generously given access to the entire gamut of tools by the awfully nice people at Stihl, we decided between us that it would be interesting to look at both the smallest, and the largest hedge trimmers, and soon I was in receipt of the diminutive HSA 45 from the Lithium Ion range, as well as the much more hefty HSA 94R from the Lithium Ion PRO range.

HSA 45

First impressions

This is a tool aimed squarely at the domestic customer with a small garden – a recently entered sector for this brand. Once I’d got over the initial shock of seeing the Stihl branding on a tool at a relatively low price point (£99), I was pleasantly surprised to discover the quality seems to be as I’d expect from this marque, only in a smaller package. The only element with a clearly budget feel is the orange blade guard, constructed from thin, folded plastic – perfectly adequate, but not the sturdy moulded sheath I’m used to seeing on the pro tools.

I noticed that there’s nowhere to load in the battery, and a small socket for a power cable reveals that the rechargeable cells are completely sealed in. There’s a safety key which needs to be slotted into place before you can operate the blades, and the usual three-part safety power switch with an additional locking switch providing extra safety.

Weight

At 2.3kg this is a very light machine – you can lift it with two fingers, and barely feel the weight in use.

Ergonomics & build quality

The balance of the machine, the quality of the materials and the thought that’s gone into the design are typical Stihl, and it’s good to see these production values transferring to the domestic range. This trimmer is so comfortable in use, a really nicely designed tool that is easy on your arms and hands, with all the controls falling perfectly into place to make the use of the trimmer completely intuitive (once you’ve worked out that you need to put the safety key in. That threw me a bit, but my fault for being so eager to try it out and skipping a page in the manual).

Blade and gearing

This is not a tough machine for thick growth and long use. The torque is low and the quoted maximum thickness it will cut is 8mm, though I managed a little more on a rough old mixed native hedging containing ash, holly and Lonicera nitida (poor man’s box), not to mention a fair helping of brambles. It coped admirably and gave a good finish, albeit at a fairly slow pace. It also took its time cutting through the young, but fairly dense and sappy growth on box hedging, but again achieved a good result.

Noise and vibrations

This is whisper quiet, with barely any vibration transferred to your arms and shoulders. It was a joy to handle and use.

Run & charging time

40 minutes run time, with a charging time of 210 minutes.

Cost (RRP)

HSA45 Hedgetrimmer £99

Overall

Yes, it’s rather slow, and compared to what I’m used to, certainly underpowered. My head says spend the extra on the mid-range tool (HSA 56), with its removable battery and greater cutting capacity. But my heart is tugged at by the excellent design, light weight and ergonomics, and I’m reminded that I’m not the target customer for this machine, which is, after all, a very capable option for a small garden, providing you’re not in a hurry – and in all honesty, when you’re not doing it for a living, cutting hedges is never something you should do in a hurry. Having said which, it’s earned a place in my regular tool kit, and I’ve begun to reach for it whenever there’s a slightly wafty edge to a modestly sized hedge I want to keep crisp.

The Stihl HSA45 cordless hedgetrimmer from the Lithium Ion range for smaller gardens

HSA 94R

First impressions

This is a beast of a machine, but rather an elegant one at that. It’s the battery equivalent of my petrol powered HS81R with the 75cm blade, my workhorse hedge trimmer, which gives me a good range of cut from the ground or up a ladder without having to resort to my petrol kombi-system with the long-reach trimmer (HL-KM 145). It’s well balanced, and feels reassuringly sturdy.

The battery isn’t carried onboard, and I had two options – the belt-worn AP300 and high-capacity backpack battery AR1000. Both distribute the weight of the trimmer and power cells around your body, with obvious advantages in respect of manoeuvrability and operator fatigue. A thick power cord runs from the battery to a socket on the handle of the machine, and both the belt and the harness for the backpack feature securing straps to help route the cable around your body – a thoughtful solution to a slightly frustrating necessity. I could tell from the outset that the cable is something I was going to have to get used to.

Both batteries plug into a separate charger – Stihl had sent me the AL-500 Hi-speed charger, but the AL-300 is also available at a lower price point. It does exactly the same job, but at a more relaxed pace than the AL-500.

The Stihl HSA94R hedgetrimmer from the Lithium Ion PRO range of cordless tools

Weight

The trimmer itself is 4.4kg, which isn’t fantastically light, but is pleasingly less hefty than its petrol equivalent.

The AR1000 high-capacity backpack battery weighs 5.5kg with the harness, and the AP300 battery weighs 1.7kg.

Stihl’s high capacity backpack battery AR1000

Ergonomics & build quality

A beautifully balanced piece of equipment in the hands, with all the controls falling just where you’d expect to find them under the fingers. There’s the usual safety approach to the power switch which is split, requiring both hands to be gripping a handle before the blades will move, which works faultlessly. And an extra switch on the rear handle which allows you to select three blade speeds (levels 1 to 3) according to the job in hand. Being the PRO version, this machine has the rear rotating handle, which is a godsend when cutting vertically right up against the face of the hedge. I’ve already mentioned the cable routing system, which prevents you from getting into a tangle – you do, however, need to allow yourself enough length of cord to manoeuvre the machine, and this comes with practice. In use, once either the backpack or belt-worn batteries are fitted, you really don’t notice them at all.

The belt-worn AP300 battery from Stihl with cable-management loops which help prevent a tangle

Not looking so clean now! The HSA94R covered in leylandii clippings and still going strong

Blade and gearing

Although all the Pro machines are badged as hedge trimmers, Stihl differentiate between trimming blades with the designation T, for fine cutting of small leaved hedging plants and topiary, and cutting blades (designated R), which have a wider gap between teeth and a slightly lower gearing ratio and slower blade speed, making them perfect for more robust jobs cutting thicker, older growth. This is the R version, and has so far dealt happily with everything I’ve put in its way, from sappy young growth on leylandii to thick, overgrown stems on a mixed native hedge.

Noise and vibrations

For anyone used to a petrol machine, it takes a while to get used to having a similarly powered tool which is so much easier on both the ears and the body in general.

Run & charging time

With the belt-worn AP300 battery: 35 minutes to full charge with the AL-500 Hi-speed charger. Up to 135 minutes run time at level 1

With the backpack AR1000 battery: 120 minutes to full charge with the AL-500 Hi-speed charger. Up to 380 minutes run time at level 1

Cost (RRPs)

HSA 94R Hedgetrimmer £475

Battery options

AR1000 £630

AP300 £187

Battery belt for AP300 £100

AL-500 Hi-speed charger £120

The power level switch on the HSA94R

Power cable and handle-mounted socket

Overall

In use, the machine is quiet, but with all the power you’d expect from a professional level tool. I certainly missed nothing about my petrol version, and the reducing in weight of the main unit made it a pleasure to use.

Both the belt and backpack batteries are so well designed you hardly know you’re wearing them. The necessary cable is taking some getting used to, as although barely noticeable on the ground, it’s more apparent when you’re working up a ladder on a tall hedge. Not that it gets in the way, it’s just that you feel more tethered to the equipment than you would with either a petrol machine, a corded electric trimmer, or one with an on-board battery (notwithstanding the hit on weight and manoeuvrability that would entail).

This comes to the fore when moving your ladder – at which point, you need to put the machine down, which means either divesting yourself of backpack or belt battery, or (more likely), pulling the cable out of the trimmer. The power socket in the machine’s handle seems robust and well made, relying on the friction of a firm fit to hold the connection, and requiring a good pull to remove the cable. One solution would be to take a lesson from the arb guys and use something like the Petzl Caritool to hang the hedgetrimmer from the battery harness, leaving both hands free and relieving the wear on the socket.

Of course, this may well be me worrying unduly and, with time, I’m sure I’ll become accustomed to the new way of working. There’s certainly no sign of wear to socket or cable yet, and this aside, the entire experience is so far above that of using a petrol machine it almost renders comparison redundant.

Conclusion

I was already pretty sold on cordless battery power tools when I reviewed a competitor’s product last year, but being able to keep all my kit within the Stihl stable when I convert from petrol is really the ideal for me, and I’ve been delighted to discover that the quality and attention to detail that I’ve come to expect from their tools has transferred to the cordless lines. The introduction of a suite of battery-powered tools for the domestic market is a welcome addition to the Stihl portfolio and one the consumer can only benefit from, while the PRO badged tools offer that combination of ruggedness and well thought-out control that those of us who earn our livings with this equipment have come to take for granted. For those who want more power than the Lithium Ion tools but with the benefit of an onboard battery, don’t forget the Lithium Ion Compact range featuring the HSA56 hedgetrimmer – a review of that machine will be coming to the blog soon.

Have you tried any cordless battery powered garden tools yet? I’d love to hear your experiences, so do let me know either on Twitter, or in the comments below.

With many thanks to Stihl for supplying the equipment in this post in exchange for a fair and balanced review.

]]>Stihl cordless hedgetrimmersGardening as a careerCommentAndrew O'BrienSun, 29 Apr 2018 10:09:25 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/being-a-gardener56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5ae21176f950b719b60d6b16Gardening? It’s not the career of choice for most people. Especially when
there are so many other ways you could be earning a living. In this post, I
explain why I took the choice to make a career of it, and try to gain an
understanding of why this decision seems to cause mild discomfort for
others.Gardening? It’s not the career of choice for most people. Especially when there are so many other ways you could be earning a living. In this post, I explain why I took the choice to make a career of it, and try to gain an understanding of why this decision seems to cause mild discomfort for others.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself. Sun on my back, wind in my hair (twigs in my beard ). My hands in the soil and lungfuls of whatever it is about being out here that Studies Have Shown gets both serotonin and dopamine coursing about the old noggin like it’s going out of fashion.

This is the equivalent of the view from my desk. Takes the idea of the open-plan office to another level.

It’s not always like this. Sometimes it’s pouring down and my waterproofs are failing and the claggy clay is sticking to everything and because I get paid to garden I have become intimately acquainted with just how finely you can clip the line that marks when it’s so wet you’re doing more harm than good to your lawns, your beds and borders. Days like these don’t make me wish I wasn’t a gardener. Days like these make me determined to get more clients with greenhouses in which to work under cover.

Not everyone has always understood my desire to be a gardener, or the pride and satisfaction I derive from my work. “Oh, so you’re a garden designer,” they say, hopefully. That, so it would seem, is deemed just about respectable – the well-to-do have garden designers after all. This kind of exchange always puts me in mind of Lady Bracknell’s magnanimous pronouncement upon Liberals. “They count as Tories. They dine with us. Or come in the evenings at any rate.”

Or, horrified, someone will blurt out “what, you’re sweeping leaves and stuff?” Well, sometimes, yes. But probably raking them, to be honest. It’s great fun in September and October, though by the end of November even I have to admit it’s wearing a bit thin. And that’s not all I’ll be doing. There’s planting and pruning, staking and mulching, deadheading, disbudding, weeding, feeding, sowing, propping. There’s planning, buying and invoicing, there is (whisper it) even design too – but it soon becomes clear that many people won’t see beyond the rake.

There’s no escaping the leaves.

I kind of get it. It’s the menial thing, isn’t it? Dirt under the finger nails makes people uncomfortable. Shouldn’t we be beyond soil now? Well, I have to tell you, I’m not. At the end of each day, I like to know I have made a tangible difference to some part of the world, and soil in the creases of my hands tells me this with a degree of clarity that no comfortable office-based job has ever managed to achieve.

I’m not the only person to have decided, after a decade or so of piloting a desk, that I was disillusioned with the grinding of the corporate sausage machine – there are whole host of career-change gardeners out there, and their interesting and varied reasons for making the switch to horticulture will be a topic for another blog post in the near future. Chatting among ourselves, it becomes quickly apparent that many of us are fearsome snowflakes fed up with the current order – but you can only push that so far. Most of us are gardening for people who can afford to pay gardeners, and any creative spirit who thinks they’ve rejected the system is kidding themselves as long as they’re relying on commissions to pay the bills. There’s no opting out of the system here – we’re just exerting a bit more agency over the part we play within it, and we’re willing to pay the price for that. That cost-benefit analysis we’ve all carried out before making the career switch will be part of my next blog on the subject.

Soily hands and flowers. That’s what it’s all about.

But back to people’s reactions. Even the most well-meaning of folk can have trouble making sense of my chosen line of work. How often have I seen people surrender to an urge to stick the word “landscape” in front my job title, as if being a gardener requires some context in order to make it acceptable, or perhaps even comprehensible, as a career option for a person who can speak in full sentences. For the record, I’m not a landscape gardener. I’m immensely impressed by people who do patios and will swoon at the lines of a good stone wall, but I’m pretty rubbish with hard landscaping materials – you wouldn’t want me behind the controls of a digger. What I do is look after plants. I can tend your garden for you. Of course, I can help make things look nice if you’re not that interested in your garden, but if you’re willing to engage with the space, you’ll get so much more out of the relationship. I can teach you how to get the best from the plants you’ve got, and recommend others you might find bring delight to your outside space. I can make your fruit trees more productive, or create a prairie, a tropical paradise, or a productive kitchen garden in that place beyond your back door. I can bring you year round colour and movement, and help you manage an area that you might not quite know what to do with…oh, if only there were a word for such a job. Hang on…

I’m a gardener. Can you dig it?

]]>Gardening as a careerMarch in the gardenInstagram reviewAndrew O'BrienTue, 03 Apr 2018 16:53:25 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/march-201856606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5ac3a8c7758d46fd8ce72f24March 2018 – what the heck was that? Just as we were beginning to enjoy the
first signs of spring, the Beast from the East brought snow and cold
weather from Siberia. Twice. Thankfully for us, rumours of its return at
the end of the month proved to be groundless, though our friends in the
north were less fortunate. We just got very wet instead.An Instagram retrospective of March 2018March 2018 – what the heck was that? Just as we were beginning to enjoy the first signs of spring, the Beast from the East brought snow and cold weather from Siberia. Twice. Thankfully for us, rumours of its return at the end of the month proved to be groundless, though our friends in the north were less fortunate. We just got very wet instead.

Come the new month, come the snow. Usually in winter I can work through snow, as there's plenty of pruning work to be done above ground, but since it's almost spring most of these jobs are behind me, so the cold weather kept me indoors for a couple of days. But when I did get out, a bonfire certainly helped to keep the spirits up.

All of this, as you can imagine, was enough to send anyone scurrying back in for a quick cuddle with a houseplant or three. It’s now a good time to start thinking about repotting houseplants, in part as a reward for surviving the low light and centrally heated atmosphere of winter.

How was March for you in the garden? I’d love to hear how you managed this tricky month, so let me know, either on twitter here or in the comments below.

]]>March in the gardenA day in the life of… Gardens, Weeds & WordsDiary postAndrew O'BrienTue, 27 Mar 2018 16:51:10 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/hever-castle-gardens56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5aba6afe562fa7e192160244A trip to Hever Castle Gardens with the Garden Media Guild. Daffodils,
miles of yew an impressive Italian Garden...and an unexpected encounter
with bedding plants.

A brief dip into the journal of a garden blogger.

Hever Castle Gardens

To Hever Castle this morning with the Garden Media Guild, there to wander through the gardens with head gardener Neil Miller as our guide, but not before, ancient mariner like, I’d fixed my eye upon Sarah Cole, the poor Marketing Manager, and got her to spill the beans upon everything that’s going on at the childhood home of Anne Boleyn.

Unsurprisingly, the gardens play a key role in the success of the venue as a destination for return visits – as beautiful, famous and impressive as the castle and surrounding buildings are, with all their associations with Tudor history and, more recently, the Astor family, it’s the seasonal interest of the plantings that keeps people coming back time and again, beginning with Snowdrop Walks in February, the Dazzling Daffodils in March, the Tulip Celebrations in April, and ending with Autumn colour and Christmas events at the other end of the year. Such a varied programme is necessary for the survival of any historic house and garden, not least the private venue independent of the corporate machinery of the National Trust or English Heritage, and it’s true that Hever has an atmosphere which is unlike any of the properties around managed by these two organisations. It’s arguably the best site of its kind in the area for children’s activities (Sarah told me they’re presently building a new play area by the Astor Wing entrance), and being one of the few gardens in the area that allow visitors to bring dogs, it really is a case of fun for all the family. Which, as a phrase, reeks undeniably of trite marketing speak, but as a strategy is of vital importance if we want our nation’s gardens to be not only accessible destinations, but desirable destinations to as many people as possible. Of course, entry price and transport links play into this debate, but that’s what parks are for, and – oh, the parks budgets… a discussion for another day.

Daffodils in Anne Boleyn’s orchard

But of course it was the gardens we’d come to see, and I’d thought it wise to leave Bill at home, as he does tend to steal the show. As well as eat the plants. We began in Anne Boleyn’s orchard (I’m not entirely convinced the apple trees are quite of that vintage), where the ground is carpeted in daffodils. The team have been working with the multi Chelsea Gold Medal winning Johnny Walkers (of Walkers Bulbs, bulbs.co.uk) to create the Dazzling Daffodils festival which ran last week, and we were privileged to have Johnny’s company on the tour today. Under Johnny’s watchful eye, Neil’s garden team planted 7,000 daffodil bulbs for this year’s display, in addition to the many thousands already in situ. Even for a hard-to-please daff skeptic such as me (I can happily stand a Narcissus pseudonarcissus, a ‘Thalia’, or even a N. poeticus at a push, though this recent article from Miranda Janataka on the Hardy Plant Society’s website has challenged me to expand my tastes) couldn’t fail to be impressed.

I fell in love with this squashed looking old zinc planter by the Half Moon Pond

From there, past the moated castle, miles of beautifully clipped yew (“I love yew” “I love yew too!”) the half moon pond, through the golden gates and into what many will see the crowning glory of William Waldorf Astor’s redevelopment of the gardens, the Italian Garden, laid out in the first decade of the twentieth century to house his collection of statuary and sculpture. With its golden sandstone colonnades, manicured lawns and pergolas, all leading inexorably toward the loggia and fountain at the head of a huge lake, it provides a breathtaking spectacle on a grand scale. But for lovers of detail, there are also little vignettes along the 200 metre Pompeiian Wall, which is divided into separate rooms, each three or four meters wide, and each depicting a scene of the devastation following the eruption of Vesuvius. Well, that historical context was a bit lost on me… I was too busy enjoying the counterpoint of stone and plants – thin cypresses, eccentrically contorted vines, sculptural acers in bud, and pockets which, later in the year will be full of annual bedding. In some the bedding had already arrived – and its very much an acquired taste. I can stand it, for a bit, because, even if it does look a bit like someone’s let a 1970s parks department loose in Rousham, there’s a kind of joy evident in it which, even if it’s not quite my thing, is a pleasure to be swept along with.

I wish my honeysuckle was as well trained as this

One of the bays on the Pompeiian Wall

Here comes the bedding. I’m beginning to like it.

The camellia-lined pergola walk leading to a view of the lake

It was a brief trip, but even on a drizzly day in early spring, there’s an awful lot to recommend Hever’s gardens. Later in the year, when the rhododendrons are in bloom, not to mention the roses (of which there must be acres), it will be a picture. I’ll be back for sure.

Have you been to Hever Castle and explored the gardens? Or does it look like the kind of garden you’d enjoy? And what’s your opinion on bedding? I’d love to hear what you think, either on twitter, or in the comments below.

]]>A day in the life of… Gardens, Weeds & WordsA day in the life of… Gardens, Weeds & WordsDiary postAndrew O'BrienTue, 20 Mar 2018 17:39:01 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/spring-equinox56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5ab13f3470a6ad041285cc5fA day in the life of a garden blogger. Spring rebooted, the vernal equinox.
Surely winter's finished with us now?

A brief dip into the journal of a garden blogger.

Spring equinox

This post contains affiliate links

Ah, Spring – we’ve been expecting you…

The first day of Spring. Again. We tried welcoming the new season in with the first of March, but the elements were having none of it. You’re being a bit previous, they seemed to say, and gave us the cold shoulder. Relying on the meteorological calendar for the turn of the seasons is, ironically, rarely entirely reliable, and certainly this year the vernal equinox would appear to have offered the more accurate indication. Certainly judging by the warmth of the sun now beating down upon the garden, where I’ve just spent an hour or two weeding for myself as a client (it’s the only way I get anything done in my own garden, though the conversation’s a bit one sided).

So the fleece has been rolled back up in the greenhouse, and the weekend is looking good for pelargonium fun, which will include repotting, feeding, and general furtling, the latter involving some pretty serious pinching out of limbs grown lanky over winter. I’ve already potted on some cuttings which managed to root in the cold greenhouse, which is just as well, as the parent plant appears to have carked it. I’ve put my order in with Fibrex Nurseries to replace the few that didn’t make it through, plus a few new-to-me varieties, about which I’ll write more when they arrive next month.

A cutting of Pelargonium 'Mystery' jostling for space among the seedlings

This morning’s post (well, a courier to be honest) brought a beautiful eight foot tripod ladder from the lovely folk at Henchman, which will be accompanying me to work so I can test it out for a review. It’s amazingly light, and adjustable on each of its three legs, so should be so comfortable to work from I shall probably need to be coaxed down with cake.

I also have a beautiful book on Double Flowers by Nicola Ferguson to read (review in a week or so), published by Pimpernel Press. It’s a celebration of the form, as it occurs in the wild, and as manipulated in cultivation, and it also deals with how best to use plants with flowers of this kind in the garden. In all honesty, my own tastes linger rather more around simpler, single forms, but this certainly promises to be an interesting read, and it’s a beautifully produced volume.

Double Flowersby Nicola Ferguson

In the meantime, editing is under way on episode 2 of The Virgin Gardener podcast, in which Laetitia and I and were thrilled to be joined by Sara Venn for a wide ranging chat, taking in community gardening, seed sowing for those with limited space, and that #shoutyhalfhour thing. Thank you all so much for your overwhelmingly positive response to our podcast teaser and episode 1 with James Alexander-Sinclair – I’m afraid we’ve now got the podcast bug and you’re stuck with us. If you haven’t yet had a chance to listen, you can find the podcast on iTunes here (also available on other podcast platforms).

Someone mentioned today that there’s another cold spell heading our way for the easter weekend – in which case, fie upon’t! It doesn’t look too bad on my weather app, but let me know if you hear rumours that, yet again, winter is coming. For us gardeners, that’s rarely a good thing.

How is your gardening week going now the Mini Beast is retreating? I’d love to hear, so do let me know, either on twitter or in the comments below.

]]>A day in the life of… Gardens, Weeds & WordsBrilliant & Wild. A garden from scratch in a yearBook reviewAndrew O'BrienSun, 11 Mar 2018 17:55:39 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/brilliant-and-wild56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5aa55c2d085229361144c0c5With one almighty flounce, Winter departs, and Spring asserts itself upon
the outside world with a conviction that grows by the day. It’s the perfect
time to be thinking about how you want your garden to be over the next
year, and if that’s something you’ve not attempted before, Lucy Bellamy’s
*Brilliant & Wild: a garden from scratch in a year* might just be the book
for youBook reviewWith one almighty flounce, Winter departs, and Spring asserts itself upon the outside world with a conviction that grows by the day. It’s the perfect time to be thinking about how you want your garden to be over the next year, and if that’s something you’ve not attempted before, Lucy Bellamy’s Brilliant & Wild: a garden from scratch in a year might just be the book for you.

Visually, it’s a very pleasing object – it’s a medium sized format (24cm x 19cm x 1.8cm thick) that sits perfectly in the hands, unencumbered by dust jacket, the full bleed photo of summer perennials on the front cover board setting the scene for the kind of photography to be found within – mostly plant portraits taken with a shallow depth of field, with some portraits of Lucy in the garden. It’s the kind of dreamy, detail-oriented photography where you find yourself directed to observe aspects of a plant you might miss when presented with an entire border – the hairs on the stems of an echinacea, the delicate, golden filigree around the central boss of a helenium. There are also more illustrative shots to amplify the step-by-step sections within the text, which fulfil their purpose with aplomb, but it’s the pages of sparkling plant porn distributed generously throughout the extent which will do so much to keep the casual browser engaged.

Which is just as well, for beyond an insouciant perusal there’s a message worth hearing, and one which, from my own experience, will fall upon the fertile ground that many a new home or allotment owner will have found themselves custodian of. And the first paragraph of the introduction pithily encapsulates the proposal:

“With just a few tools and a back-of-an-envelope plan, it is easy to grow a blooming, bee-filled garden from scratch in a single year – a space wild in character that happily knits together in a matter of months, brimming with bugs, birds and butterflies, somewhere that echoes other natural, beautiful places in an incredible sparkling whoosh, wilder, greener and right outside the back door”.

This introduction reads like a manifesto, the continual repetition of “the brilliant and wild garden” indicating that this is more than just a catchy title for another gardening book. This is about putting an emphasis on the plants, rather than hard landscaping, about simple, unfussy flowers with a wild “character”, about food for birds and bees and butterflies and a community of plants that will work just as well in an urban space as in the countryside. It’s about seasonality, and change, and rhythm, and never standing still.

Since so much is made of the phrase, I wanted to take few moments to examine the concept of the “brilliant and wild garden” from the point of view of a blog which deals, from time to time, with the wonder of weeds. It’s my firm contention that anyone can have a wild garden billowing romantically beyond the back door, absolutely pulsating with bees and butterflies and all manner of wildlife, and the way to achieve this is by doing precisely nothing. Except, perhaps, running the mower to make a path down the middle (on as winding a route as the fancy takes you), so you can get through the towering grasses and perennials upon either side. The downside is, your neighbours will hate you, because the little patch of wildflower-filled wilderness you’ve allowed to grow will appear to them nothing more than a disgraceful patch of weeds. We tend to like a little romance with our wilderness, a little less yellow, a bit of artfully disguised discipline undergirding the apparent chaos. So much for the wild garden. But this, I think, is where the “brilliant” bit comes in – a garden that gives the feeling of wild, untamed nature, but which has sufficient colour, artfulness and order to avoid offending the neighbours. Brilliant, and wild. We’ve been talking about this since William Robinson, but Lucy Bellamy’s book holds a plan for the typical 21st century garden.

As to the practicalities of establishing such a garden, whether you consider natural flora to be wildflowers or weeds, they will form the competition for your new plantings, and the odds are stacked significantly in their favour. The author has hit upon one of the best ways of achieving a season or two’s grace from the ravages of Mother Nature, which is to carve out portions of an established lawn to create the borders and beds – removing the vast majority of the established plant community with the turves (which can then be left somewhere to quietly decompose into wonderful, loamy compost) and allowing her carefully selected tapestry of perennials time to knit together.

There are excellent step-by-steps instructions as to how this was achieved, but even better would have been to have made this underlying strategy more explicit in the text, as not all garden situations are quite so tolerant and forgiving when new plant communities are introduced – particularly the kind of summer-flowering perennials recommended here which at the time of writing are barely shaking off their winter’s slumber and are yet to produce a leaf, while creeping buttercup, hairy bittercress and rosebay willow herb are already staking their claims upon the spaces between (let’s not even mention couch grass. Actually, couch grass does get a mention here, but it’s rather fleeting). Appropriate site preparation is key to all new planting schemes, and the editors could well have made the (admittedly painful) decision to sacrifice one or two of Jason Ingram’s gorgeous full page photographs to ensure this information was treated in a little more detail. It’s my only real niggle with book, and it’s all the more frustrating in a title so otherwise deserving of merit. I shall pin my hopes on this getting tweaked in a reprint – publishers please note.

The chapter on plants is a cornucopia of floral delights, a sweetshop where all the tempting wares are laid out invitingly before you. There’s nothing wild or whacky – that’s not the point of the book – just tried and tested, reliable varieties which have earned their place for their combination of beauty, an easy-going nature, and their attractiveness to pollinators. Each plant gets at least one good mugshot (some have more wafty portrait type shots in addition), a fact box including details such as common name, botanical name, botanical family, height, reasons to grow and recommended cultivars, and a couple of paragraphs of additional information. There’s are also a box suggesting appropriate plant combinations (“Goes well with…”), which will be of particularly use when putting together a planting plan. The plant chapter is subdivided loosely by the form or silhouette of the plant – perhaps of greater use to a new gardener than strict botanical definitions – so you’ll find spires, umbellifers, dots, flatheads, panicles and grasses, as well as a section for bulbs, corms and tubers. The contents page at the front includes only the chapter headings, and it would be useful to have these subsections itemised so the reader can quickly flick to the appropriate pages when planning their garden, which is the subject of the next chapter, slightly confusingly entitled “Planting”.

This begins with some useful information on plant combinations, and continues with a primer on drawing up your planting plan, including mini sample plans which draw upon the forms detailed in the previous chapter. There are practical guides on sourcing plants, knowing how many plants to fit into a given space, and how to plant bulbs and pot-grown perennials, as well as some good general pointers for design.

While the benefits for wildlife run like a thread throughout the text, its good to see an entire chapter dedicated to this topic, including a field guide to the most common birds and insects you can expect to make your garden a home, and the less obvious life beneath your feet. This is a gardener who clearly wants their garden – and yours – to work in balance with nature, eschewing chemical controls and emphasising the place of each member of the gardening ecosystem, even pests such as aphids and slugs – we’re reminded again of the aim to create a garden that embraces the yin and the yang of the title – brilliant, but also wild.

The final chapters deal with caring for your garden through the seasons, and take you through what you can expect in the first year and beyond. At the back there’s useful reference material – a flowering calendar, a chart of plants by height, a table of plants by various design characteristics and a list of resources. The organisation of this last chapter is a bit muddled, as the single spread “Beyond the year” really belongs in the previous chapter, while the following pages, which all pertain to the planning stage, belong either to the “planting” chapter or the following reference section. It’s all great stuff, but would be more accessible and, importantly, retrievable, with clearer signposting.

I couldn’t help liking this book as soon as I picked it up – it’s a beautiful object, and the mission of the author runs clearly throughout the text. And starting from that position, I noticed that the more time I spent with my reviewing head on, the more I just wanted to stick the kettle on, flop into my most comfortable sofa and dive deeper into the brilliant and wild experience, immersing myself in the text and photographs. There are those few minor structural hiccups which make the reader work a little harder than necessary, and the slightly cursory treatment of site preparation which I hope may be addressed in a reprint, but these are insufficient to detract from an enjoyment of the book.

Who should buy it? Old hands, certainly – I challenge anybody with a love for plants and gardens not to be moved by the beauty of the photography, and the passion of the central premise. But newbie gardeners, most definitely. There’s a wealth of inspiration, practical guidance and passion for an environmentally sympathetic model of gardening that leaps off the pages and will have you skipping merrily down your own garden path, well on the way to constructing your own brilliant and wild garden, in no time at all.

Brilliant & Wild, a garden from scratch in a year, by Lucy Bellamy with photographs by Jason Ingram, was published on March 8 2018 by Pimpernel Press, who were kind enough to send me a copy in exchange for an unbiased review. It's available from your local independent bookseller, or for those who can’t wait, here (but if you do buy from this Amazon link, please remember to support your local indy by buying a book of equal or greater value).

]]>Brilliant & Wild. A garden from scratch in a yearJanuary & February in the gardenInstagram reviewAndrew O'BrienFri, 02 Mar 2018 17:08:34 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/january-february-in-the-garden56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a99711f8165f5fba85e06ebFrom a dull grey start to a bitter, snowy end, winter has been topsy-turvy,
and is now in the throes of a tantrum at being asked to go home. We may
struggle to keep up; the garden, of course, takes all this in its stride.An Instagram retrospective of January and February 2018From a dull grey start to a bitter, snowy end, winter has been topsy-turvy, and is now in the throes of a tantrum at being asked to go home. We may struggle to keep up; the garden, of course, takes all this in its stride.

2018 began as most years do here in the south east corner of the UK, under dull, grey skies, but after two weeks away from my gardens and feeling a bit like a prune from too much exposure to central heating and stove, I was delighted to get back outside.

...which we've spent the past two months watching slowly dessicate in the arid conditions in the house, in spite of being constantly doused and misted. Most ferns do really like humidity, though they can put up with the cold. We thought the bathroom might be the best place, but even here all bets are off as to whether they can make it through to the longer days of spring, and put on enough new growth to offset the fronds that have copped it, or whether they'll just turn up their toes and we have to admit we're not good at keeping ferns inside, which would be a shame. I‘ll keep you posted.

In the meantime, the tropical greenery seems to be more than happy, with new growth on the monstera and the schefflera...

How has the beginning of the year been for you and your garden? Let me know on twitter, or in the comments below.

]]>January & February in the gardenThe Virgin Gardener PodcastPodcastsAndrew O'BrienWed, 28 Feb 2018 18:41:52 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/the-virgin-gardener-podcast56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a96f38b0852298c605b6625There’s a new gardening podcast in town. Co-hosted by yours truly and
Sunday Times gardening columnist Laetitia Maklouf, it’s aimed squarely at
newbie garden owners and enthusiastic amateur gardeners, and comes with a
no-jargon, no-nonsense approach and take-home tips aplenty from the great
and the good of the horticultural world. It’s called The Virgin Gardener
Podcast, and you can find the teaser episode on iTunes right now.There’s a new gardening podcast in town. Co-hosted by yours truly and Sunday Times gardening columnist Laetitia Maklouf, it’s aimed squarely at newbie garden owners and enthusiastic amateur gardeners, and comes with a no-jargon, no-nonsense approach and take-home tips aplenty from the great and the good of the horticultural world. It’s called The Virgin Gardener Podcast, and you can find the teaser episode on iTunes right now.

This post includes affiliate links

The podcast takes its name from Laetitia’s first book, The Virgin Gardener , which I’ve been a fan of for years for the way it demystifies gardening for the uninitiated, cutting through all the horticultural patter and communicating a love for plants in a down-to-earth manner which makes beautifying the home with fabulous plants achievable for anyone, no matter how big or small the available space (balconies and window boxes are catered for, and you should see what Laetitia can do with a mossy pot and a jam jar).

It’s an approach I always try to keep in mind in my day job as I help families tame their gardens, and enthuse them about the potential of their outdoor space. But many of us are both time- and cash-poor, and I’ve seen friends and family so often travel down the slippery slope from the delight of acquiring a garden along with a new home, to despondency as the Green Thing beyond the back door becomes more master than servant. Gardens are supposed to bring us joy, but so often they can be sources of stress. Over the coming year I’ll be working on some resources to be made available on Gardens, Weeds & Words to help people take back control of their gardens, and one of things that’s been so interesting for me on Instagram is watching how my work has been moving in a complementary line to Laetitia’s, particularly with her current series of Instagram stories on 5 Minute Gardening. So when she got in touch to suggest we join forces for a podcast series, there was really no decision to be made.

We’ve recorded a short teaser episode as an introduction to the series, and hope to have Episode One – featuring none other than garden designer extraordinaire and RHS Chelsea Flower Show judge James Alexander Sinclair – out by the middle of March. We’d love it if you had a listen, even more if you subscribed, and if you felt able to leave us a review, well…I think we’d be just beside ourselves with joy.

The teaser episode of The Virgin Gardener Podcast can be found on iTunes here.

]]>The Virgin Gardener PodcastWhen to sow chilliesAdviceSeedsAndrew O'BrienMon, 19 Feb 2018 20:11:46 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/when-to-sow-chillies56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a89bf150d9297112df73723Do you ever feel you’re getting buried under the weight of information and
conflicting opinions on the internet? It’s as true with gardening as any
other subject you might throw at Google. So in this post, I’m recommending
you buy a packet of seeds and get on with sowing the contents. Then you can
read the advice, contradictory or otherwise – but at least that way you’ll
have avoided the procrastination hump.Do you ever feel you’re getting buried under the weight of information and conflicting opinions on the internet? It’s as true with gardening as any other subject you might throw at Google. So in this post, I’m recommending you buy a packet of seeds and get on with sowing the contents. Then you can read the advice, contradictory or otherwise – but at least that way you’ll have avoided the procrastination hump.

Everybody’s at it. Barely has the tinsel been put away before people are talking about sowing chillies. There is such a thing as indecent haste.

It’s not hard to understand why. Chillies need a long growing season, and so getting them going as early as possible would seem to make sense. And the fact that the middle of winter is dark and cold offers explanation enough for why anyone would want to usher into life a little reminder of Central American heat and sunshine. Of course, being Central American plants, chillies themselves do really require something at least approaching heat and light, two things for which January’s not renowned in the northern hemisphere.

“So what if the seedlings grow long and leggy as they stretch through the winter’s gloom towards the light?”, cry the early sowers. “Just plant them deeper into the compost when potting them on, they’ll soon beef up”.

But while there’s something to be said for this approach, others maintain that there’s no point in starting your crops into life with straggly plants just because you’re impatient to get going, and recommend restraint until the end of February or, better still, March, when levels of light and warmth are more conducive to producing a well-formed seedling. For the record, I tend towards a February sowing. Hedging my bets, you might say.

Of course, the whole discussion can probably be considered as a bit twentieth century. We’ve had domestic heated propagators for decades, but the plummeting cost of LED technology has meant artificial grow lights are now affordable both to buy and to run – as much light and heat as your infant plants require, whatever the time of year.

Young chilli seedlings on the window ledge, a few days after emerging.

So, what to do? It’s quite possible to reach a perfect pitch of inertia after reading the wealth of well-meaning, often contradictory advice. As ever, the best course of action is to read these words of wisdom, instantly forget them, and then, most importantly, get stuck in and have a go. You can always return to the advice if things go a little pear shaped, or you feel you could do better next time, but by then, you’ll have your own experience to add into the mix, and there’s no substitute for that. With chillies, now’s as good a time as any to make a start, and I’ve added a few notes below for you to read, and then ignore. Happy chilli growing!

Growing chillies

Sowing

To give yourself the best chance of success, choose a good quality peat-free seed compost – you don’t need something stuffed full of nutrients at this stage. A soil based compost helps to keep a good open texture, or you can incorporate vermiculite or perlite to aid drainage.

Sow your seeds onto moist, well-firmed down compost. You can sow them onto the surface and then cover with a fine layer of sieved compost, or make small holes in the surface of your seed bed (about 5mm deep) to drop the seeds into, before covering over. Water (but don’t drench) gently – the seed wants to be wet, as water is one of the signals for the embryonic plant to kick into life.

Germination is typically 10-14 days, though some varieties can take up to 5 weeks. Place the seeds in their containers somewhere warm with good light – a heated propagator on a window ledge is ideal – I have mine on a metal cabinet in front of a radiator by a window, which seems to do the trick. If your seed tray has a lid, pop it on – artificially heated air can be very drying and it’s good to keep a little humidity around the seedlings.

When it comes to exactly when to sow, opinion is divided, as we’ve seen. If you’re really keen, it will help to know something about the variety of chilli you’re growing, and how long it will need to for the fruit to ripen. Further information can be found on the website of the South Devon Chilli Farm, who also have a great tip about WATERING, which is to use a misting spray and water from above, rather than drenching the compost or watering from below, to avoid lowering the temperature in the growing medium.

Pricking out

The time for this is often described as “when the seedlings are big enough to handle”, which is a wonderfully vague. I like to wait until they have developed their first true pair of leaves – so, the second pair of leaf-like things, as the first are considered the “seedling leaves” and contain the energy source for the young plant’s initial emergence (kind of like the rocket boosters which the space shuttle uses to get through the earth’s atmosphere). These seedling leaves (or cotyledons if we want to get exceedingly technical) will shrink as this food source is used up , and the plant becomes dependent on energy created through photosynthesis in the true leaves.

Chilli seedlings with their first pair of true leaves, pricked out into 9cm pots

Ease the seedlings out of the soil, and drop into individual 7.5cm pots or modules which you’ve prepared by filling with compost, into which you’ve stuck a dibber (or a finger, or a pencil) to make a hole ready to receive the plant. It’s important to handle seedlings by the leaves, and not the stems, which might seem counter intuitive, but the stems are delicate and prone to crushing, and you don’t want to constrict the main conduit through which water and nutrients flow within the plant. Firm the compost gently around the seedling, and water in.

Potting on

This should be done when the plants have four of five pairs of leaves. Move the plants into 2 litre pots, or peat-free grow bags, if that’s how you’re planning on growing them. Sunlight, warmth, and plenty of high potash feed (tomato fertiliser or comfrey tea, a recipe for which you can find in this article by Alys Fowler), which you can start applying once the first fruits have set – another bit of gardening jargon which means when you start to see fruit forming inside the flowers, and the petals begin to fall off.

Growing

Chillies are hungry and thirsty. Keep them warm – but not excessively hot – if you have an oven-like greenhouse or a conservatory with no blinds, for example, you may find flowering and or pollination rates drop. Plenty of light and a weekly feed will help guarantee a good crop. At the end of the season, many varieties can be trimmed back and overwintered in frost free conditions to give you a perennial crop year after year.

]]>When to sow chilliesA gardener’s tools: the dissecting kitGuest postA gardener's toolsToolsAndrew O'BrienTue, 13 Feb 2018 15:47:13 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/dissecting-kit56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a82f5f98165f52c408f2972I’m delighted to welcome Kew’s Miranda Janatka for the first post in a
series on A gardener’s tools, in which different gardeners will be writing
about the tools which they find invaluable in their labours, as they tend
gardens and nurture plants. Having seen a photography of Miranda’s
dissecting kit on her Instagram feed, I had to ask her if she’d be happy to
go into the background behind the collection and, fortunately for us, she
said yes.I’m delighted to welcome Kew’s Miranda Janatka for the first post in a series on A gardener’s tools, in which different gardeners will be writing about the tools which they find invaluable as they go about their work of tending gardens and nurturing plants. Having seen a photography of Miranda’s dissecting kit on her Instagram feed, I had to ask her if she’d be happy to reveal something of the background behind the collection and, fortunately for us, she said ‘yes’.

What makes a job, a craft? For those in office-based careers it can be hard to understand how delicate horticulture can be. Don’t get me wrong, it can be brutal, tough and physically demanding, but we are also sculptors, carvers and surgeons in our field.

Tools of the trade: Miranda’s botanical dissecting kit

First acquired in my student days, my dissecting kit is no different to that used by those studying biology or entomology. Despite all the advantages of modern day technology, a Kew Diploma student is still required in botany lectures to get down to the nitty gritty of what really makes plants. Scraping off cells to mount onto glass slides or pulling apart floral reproductive parts, the knowledge of a studied plant becomes intimate, then later laborious, as tutors hover over the shoulders of students peering down microscopes and devotedly drawing out by hand each cell by cell. This is haltered only by a student exclaiming loudly in excitement and everyone dropping their work to rush over and look down their viewer.

The kit at work in a Kew Dip botany lecture

However, the kit is more than a fond memoir of those days, and I use it frequently in my role here at Kew Gardens in the Tropical Nursery. Carefully pulling out germination trial seedlings from agar jelly in petri dishes, or hand-pollinating flowers, some extinct in the wild – a blunter set of tools just wouldn’t do. Certain plants such as Nepenthes species are fussy in many ways, and when we take cuttings, we use clean scalpels to carefully slice off parts to better our success rates.

Miranda using tweezers from her dissecting kit to move seedlings with precision

Full of various sized tweezers and scissors, probes and blades. I’ve slowly added to my dissecting kit over the years – if I spot a make-up brush or a cotton bud that looks like a good candidate for a pollination tool, in it goes.

My colleague’s girlfriend has sown his nickname on his, and mine is wrapped in abandoned red ribbon I once found in the School of Horticulture. They all very similar and uniform, yet conversely rather personal.

Miranda works in the Tropical Nursery at Kew Gardens, and can be found on twitter at @miranda_J.

Are there any gardening tools for which you have a particular fondness or affinity? Do let me know, either on twitter, or in the comments below.

Text and photographs copyright Miranda Janatka 2018

]]>A gardener’s tools: the dissecting kitRabbit damageAdviceAndrew O'BrienWed, 07 Feb 2018 18:18:55 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/rabbit-damage56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a7b38b8e2c483ccb4246a2dUndoubtedly cute in the right place, but a magnificent pain in the backside
in the garden – furry critters have been wreaking havoc again. This time
the rabbit damage was limited to a fig tree, but its survival is still very
much in the balance.Undoubtedly cute in the right place, but a magnificent pain in the backside in the garden – furry critters have been wreaking havoc again. This time the rabbit damage was limited to a fig tree, but its survival is still very much in the balance.

We thought we’d got past the rabbit damage problem. Well, if not quite got rid of the critters themselves, at least managed to reach a workable compromise with the furry little demons – they’d hop about, munch the odd plant they could get to easily, we’d fence off anything too young or fragile with an infrastructure that wouldn’t tax a really determined rabbit, but would make anything behind it less appealing by comparison to other, more easily reached fodder. It was working quite well, until I glanced over at the fig tree.

Now the fig tree isn’t the usual rabbit delicacy. Rabbits will, as we’ve learned to our cost, eat anything, even plants on the supposedly Rabbit Proof Plant Lists, of which there are many (you can read about our efforts to keep the pests away from a new planting in this particular garden here) – but so far, they’d not gone for anything woody. And when it comes to woody, it’s usually young tree saplings you think of protecting – hence all those ghastly plastic spiral guards you see on newly planted trees in any large landscaping project; a sensible precaution (though beware in very sunny positions they can bake a delicate young tree into oblivion). But rabbits, I’ve now learned, will go for older trees in winter when food is scarce (or even when it isn’t, it hasn’t exactly been a harsh winter in the south east of the UK), and this fig is at least five years old.

I first noticed a white patch at the base of the trunk, which I thought was paint, and couldn’t work out how it had got there. I certainly didn’t remember painting anything there myself. A closer examination revealed the horrid truth – a concerted effort had been made upon the tree, almost completely ringing it by removing the bark around the entire circumference of the stem. This is far from a good thing – the living tissue of the tree is found in the top few layers of the bark, the hardened wood in the centre being there simply for support. Without the vascular tissue of the cambium to conduct the water upwards from the roots, or the nutrients manufactured in the leaves and stem downwards towards the subterranean parts, there’s a pretty serious interruption in the ability of the plant to function, and ultimately, survive.

Shining out like a white band on a belisher beacon, the rabbit damage was clearly visible across the garden

In the case of our fig, there are two, not particularly confidence-inspiring, areas of un-nibbled bark which maintain the continuity, albeit with seriously reduced efficiency.

Thin bands of continuous bark on both the left and right of the trunk bridge the wound caused by the rabbit damage

If the tree is to have a chance of survival, the priority was to protect the damaged area, to keep it moist, and create conditions in which the cells of the remaining bark and cambium layer can grow and multiply. I packed moist moss around the wound, bound the lot in clingfilm, and finished off with a winding of waterproof duct tape to keep the bandage in place. A more attractive and eco-friendly version would have seen hessian substituted for the plastic film, but I had none to hand.

Using moss around the wound caused by the rabbit damage to create an environment in which we hope the bark will begin to heal

This I’m hoping, will hold for the while. I’m considering removing a fair portion of the top growth of the fig – as it seems logical that, although there’s a sufficient root system to support the current canopy, the passageway between the roots and the upper portions of the plant is now a significant bottleneck, and I wonder if a hard prune now, before the sap begins to rise, will reduce the stress on the tissue as it repairs itself.

A further step would be to provide more bridges between areas above and below the wound, which could be done by grafting in strips of live wood cut and prepared from the branches – not something I’ve done before, but it seems a sensible course of action, if I can get it to work. Some research to be done – I’ll start here.

And in the meantime, the chicken wire cages have come out again, this time around the triaged fig, but also on the fruit tree fans along the same fence, just in case the rabbits decide to have a go at those.

Clingfilm wrapped around the moss to keep it in place and hold moisture in.

I’d love to hear if you have experienced rabbit damage in your garden, or whether your plants have become a favourite snack for squirrels, deer, or anything else for that matter – and what you’ve done to combat their attentions. Let me know on twitter, or in the comments below.

]]>Rabbit damage#thatwinterspringthing hashtag projectInstagram reviewAndrew O'BrienTue, 30 Jan 2018 16:26:38 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/thatwinterspringthing56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a70933d71c10bdde5517021To the uninitiated, hashtags are probably the most confounding aspect to
social media. But a little delving reveals them to be a powerful tool for
cutting through the online flotsam and plucking related content out from
the relentless flow of global chatter. As winter turns to spring, I’m
launching a hashtag to encourage Instagram users to share their seasonal
images. To the uninitiated, hashtags are probably the most confounding aspect to social media. But a little delving reveals them to be a powerful tool for cutting through the online flotsam and plucking related content out from the relentless flow of global chatter. As winter turns to spring, I’m launching a hashtag to encourage Instagram users to share their seasonal images.

It’s that time of year when snowdrops and hellebores reign in the garden, when tulips are beginning to push their way through the soil, and we feel the urge to claim each mild and sunny moment as a sign of winter’s end. It might be glorious to immerse yourself in the essence of a season, but I do love the equivocacy of the transitional, inbetween times; neither quite one thing nor the other, but at the same moment something of both.

To celebrate this indeterminate time, I’ve launched #thatwinterspringthing hashtag on Instagram, which is gathering together a portfolio of seasonal images embracing a sense of hope, new life, and the promise of things to come. I’m eager to see this time of year from the perspective of as many people as possible, so do please join in by using the hashtag on your own images, and checking in from time to time to see what others have posted.

You can see all the images on Instagram tagged with #thatwinterspringthing by clicking here. With thanks to all who’ve taken part so far, and are planning to in the future!

Down time

It’s been pouring with rain all weekend, and the roof of one of the sheds has sprung a leak. This would be no surprise were it Shed Number 1, which we inherited and is now, quite frankly, a ruin, and less of an eye-opener with Shed Number 3, a cheapo version I erected myself, making up for what I lacked in skill with the creativity of my swearing. But Shed Number 2 is the Posh Shed (or as close to posh as we get around here), and is generally in very good nick. It’s also my workshop and, while it’s not particularly tidy at the moment, I do try to preserve a sense of order in there, to which buckets of rainwater are not especially conducive.

I popped up on the roof last week for a quick shifty, and the roofing material seemed in good condition, with the exception of a two or three rather odd little tears, the largest about an inch across, which went right through to the wood. I suspect a partially extinguished firework – curse the bloody things – has come down and melted right through the felt. The hastily procured tube of squeezy black roofing mastic, applied liberally, seems to have slowed the pace of the dripping, though not stopped it altogether. Let’s hope dry weather and daylight will shortly coincide, so I can sort it out.

All this soggy shed activity is in danger of interfering with proper gardening stuff – the place looks like a bomb has hit it, and the bonfire heap is higher than the pupil of the proverbial pachyderm. Seeds have begun to arrive in the post, and I've sown the first batch of chillies ('Basket of Fire' from Marshalls) though I've not yet got round to the ‘Hungarian Hot Wax’ from Sarah Raven, which I’ve recently discovered is something she offers for a mere £2.50. As a further Sign of Things to Come the raised beds have been cleared, and I’m having thoughts about sweet peas (not before time).

The naughty postman, bringing goodies for the garden almost on a daily basis just now.

It might look like quiet down time in the garden, but half way through winter I can feel the pace already beginning to pick up. Which is a way of telling myself to make the most of the lengthening days and get on with all the winter maintenance tasks, before finding time for them among the busyness of growing things becomes a real issue.

]]>A day in the life of... Gardens, Weeds & WordsHead GardenersBook reviewFurther readingAndrew O'BrienTue, 16 Jan 2018 18:16:07 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/headgardeners56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a5e3b2f652dea8d4c089eb5Published last September, it seems criminal that it's taken me so long to
get around to read this exploration of fourteen head gardeners, written by
Ambra Edwards with photographs by Charlie Hopkinson. But the moment I heard
about it, I was hooked, and wanted to savour the reading of it in the quiet
days between Christmas and New Year. Well, it took me a little longer, but
read on to find out what I thought of the book.Book reviewPublished last September, it seems criminal that it’s taken me so long to get around to read this exploration of fourteen head gardeners, written by Ambra Edwards with photographs by Charlie Hopkinson. But the moment I heard about it, I was hooked, and wanted to savour the reading of it in the quiet days between Christmas and New Year. Well, it took me a little longer, but read on to find out what I thought of the book.

This post contains affiliate links

As the summer of 2017 transitioned seemlessly into autumn, photographs began to appear in my social media feed depicting some of the finest gardens in the country. As well composed and technically proficient as anything you’ll see in the gardening glossies, these images were notable for portraying the working life of the gardens, and the people whose behind-the-scenes labour produces such pleasure and store of lasting memories for the garden visitor. Charlie Hopkinson was using his Instagram account to trail the launch of Head Gardeners by Ambra Edwards, and a more exciting partnership of photographer, writer and subject was hard for this jobbing gardener to imagine. I could hardly wait to get hold of a copy.

Eagerly tearing into the package which the publishers had been kind enough to send me, I soon held in my hands a handsome hardback volume, around 2.5cm (one inch) larger in both width and height than an A5 sheet, and about 2cm thick. The book is printed on a semi-glossy paper stock, and bound between thick boards with no annoying dust jacket to wonder what to do with. The front cover bears a portrait of Sissinghurst’s Troy Scott Smith engrossed in historic records of the garden while sitting in Harold Nicolson’s favourite seat by the door of South Cottage, the back features a monochrome view through a door in a wall of the rose garden into the long yew avenue at the same property.

It’s a beautiful book to hold, and to look at, and the printing and paper combination provides the perfect blend of clarity and colour saturation to facilitate the photography being seen to its best effect. My only gripe with the book – and it’s one I had to contend with throughout the several pleasant hours I’ve spent in its company – is that the point size for the text is too small. The pages are elegantly laid out with one continuous measure of justified text and a generous inner margin, but I found it an uncomfortable read and had to continually peer. I wondered if I was just being a blind old git, but there’s one glorious paragraph (bottom of page 19 in the introduction) where for some reason the text is a point or two larger than everywhere else, at which point it’s wonderfully legible. This is bad enough for the main copy, but the image captions, set in a small, light italic typeface, are particularly tricky to decipher, and since the captions are less legible throughout than the text on the imprint page (in a similarly diminutive, but more sensible roman weight), this really should have been picked up at an early stage of production. As ever, these things are a compromise between physical extent of the volume, word count, and designer’s whim, and I’m not sure which I’d like to see curtailed as in every other respect the book is wonderful. But it deserves a mention.

Notwithstanding the above, I’d read this book if it was scribbled in blotchy pen on the back of so many napkins, and enjoy the experience to boot. For while the writing flows in a conversational style that manages to be at once informal and authoritative, the message is a clarion call for all those who earn their living through the performance of those tasks and the application of those skills, which we refer to collectively as gardening. And it does so without setting up the tired false dichotomy between garden designers and garden practitioners (for want of a better word), instead highlighting a triumvirate of skills necessary to the operation of any garden, namely spacial organisation (the design phase), plantsmanship and the ‘craft of gardening’, going on to state “the first two skills perish without the third – it is the skilled technician who brings the designer’s vision to fruition, who requires forethought, judgement, responsiveness – what garden writer Stephen Switzer, as long ago as 1727, characterized as ‘labour of the brain’”.

At this point, I cheered. But there’s plenty more in the introduction alone to give succour to the humble gardener. “it’s difficult to imagine a class of people,” says the National Trust’s Head of Gardens, Mike Calnan, “who have such tremendous skills, who contribute so much to society, and who are so thoroughly undervalued.” (And he should know, the Trust being one of the main culprits, having systematically removed their gardeners’ entitlement to accommodation from their remuneration over the past decade, whilst failing to compensate for this loss with an appropriate increase in their salaries. I saw this happen within the garden team at Scotney Castle when I volunteered there as part of my studies in the mid noughties, and it turns out this wasn’t an isolated incident.) “It’s hard to think of another job, except possibly being a vicar, which requires so wide-ranging and diverse a set of skills” – continues the text, and this assertion introduces a theme which recurs without fail in the account of each head gardener featured, although that particular job title is not one for which Jim Buckland of West Dean Gardens, which he looks after with wife and Gardens Supervisor Sarah Wain, feels particular affection.

“It’s a crap description of what you do. You’re managing a staff of ten, plus around forty volunteers, and you’re responsible for everything. We set the business centre up. We built the car park. We made the new entrances. We manage the plant sales...”

So much for the skill set, but does this book help us to identify any common qualities of a successful head gardener? Part of it undoubtedly is sheer breadth of experience, as with Ned Price at The Weir. There’s the courage to take up and pull upon the reigns at one of the world’s foremost gardens, and to question accepted wisdoms, as Troy Scott Smith is doing at Sissinghurst. Then there’s the generosity of spirit, and a willingness to pass on gardening knowledge, married with a certain steely determination, which characterises the work of Fergus Garrett at Great Dixter. Confidence, and competence play a role, as demonstrated by Michael Walker at Trentham. But there's also a quality which has something to do with a willingness to get stuck in and give things a go, no matter the odds, that marks out the work of both Paul Pulford at London’s Queen Elizabeth Hall and Martin Ogle at Lowther Castle.

There are chapters that I found moving, such as the one that dealt with the relationship between head gardener Alistair Clark and garden owner (also founder of the cancer charity Maggie's and wife of Charles Jencks) Maggie Keswick at the Garden of Cosmic Speculation at Portrack House, Dumfries. And others that were inspiring, in particular the work with the rehabilitation of injured servicemen undertaken by Carol Sales at Headley Court.

In all, there are fourteen head gardeners featured in this book, each one a person with formidable internal resources, whose outward expression can be seen in the gardens they manage, and the work of the teams they oversee. It might also incidentally be the story of a sector that has historically taken advantage of the vast breadth and depth of talent possessed by those who choose to work within it, and continues to fall short when it comes to compensating those professionals whose hard work contributes so much to the local and national economy. But most of all, it’s the narrative of fourteen outstanding and inspirational individuals and the meaning they find in their work. It’s a wonderfully photographed, written, and produced book, and one I can thoroughly recommend.

Head Gardeners by Ambra Edwards, with photographs by Charlie Hopkinson, is published by Pimpernel Press, and is available from your local independent bookseller, or for those who can’t wait, here (but if you do buy from this Amazon link, please remember to support your local indy by buying a book of equal or greater value).

]]>Head GardenersResolutionSeedsCommentFurther readingAndrew O'BrienTue, 09 Jan 2018 17:53:27 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/resolution-156606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a54ece00852292c5b4ff1c4In which I resolve not to make any news years resolutions. And realize
that, without intending to, I’ve been making them all along.In which I resolve not to make any news years resolutions. And realize that, without intending to, I’ve been making them all along.

Grey. Dry, with a mist lying still in mid morning on the downs. The rusty cawing of crows punctuates the constant chatter of smaller birds and somewhere, never too far away, the white noise roar of traffic rumbling along the A road. A plane climbs ecstatically away from Gatwick (Mum – look! I’m free! I’m free!), as the neighbours’ boiler kicks into action. Two blue tits perch on the gatepost by my head, angrily haranguing me over some unknown transgression. A silly pheasant clucks from the cover of the tree line across the muddy paddock. It’s noisy out here, in the very best of ways.

It’s one of those winter mornings where, in spite of the gloom ­– the sun having made no effort to rouse itself today – it’s pleasant to be out, wrapped up against the chill, and moving through the garden with gentle purpose. Some tweaks to the wisteria, the roses to prune, ferns to tidy, leaves to relocate (still! Where are they all coming from?!). Nothing too strenuous but, while the frenzy of spring garden activity is still a good few weeks off, just sufficient to ease us into January, as the dark days spent indoors over the festivities fade into memory.

Naturally, there will shortly be tonnes of mulch and manure to barrow about the place, which is pleasing activity of a quite different nature but, as it does nothing to embellish the picture I’m attempting to create, we can for the moment consign the pleasant anticipation of this invigorating task to another time.

And as I snip and wobble atop my ladder, I have the time to consider the resolutions I’ve not made. For while you might think a new year requires resolutions, I like to tell myself I don’t go in for that kind of thing, and feel the warm, knowing glow as I watch my fellow creatures scrabble about at the end of December, setting themselves up to fail before the new year’s a fortnight old.

Of course, I’m completely kidding myself. Even as I open the virgin pages of my new diary I’m resolving to consult it more and use it religiously as a planning and thinking tool, rather than simply as a place to record dates, while everything else swims about the echoing space between my ears.*

And who can resist mentally replanting the garden each time the post arrives, bringing a new seed catalogue every day as the old year turns to the new? Not I, and I’ll admit, that’s a kind of resolution too. Last year I resolved to use larger modules, and as a result grew far less from seed than I’ve ever done before, as part of a cunning plan which would allow me to focus on raising fewer, better plants, and to avoid the prospect of a greenhouse full of half knackered looking things that I’d have neither the time nor the inclination to raise to the standards they deserved. It was all very sensible, but – you know what? A bit joyless, and I think as a consequence I almost retreated to the comfort of an expanding pelargonium collection and a budding interest in both roses and houseplants. This year, I may not be setting out with a finely honed plan and a suite of clearly articulated resolutions when it comes to the garden. But there’s one word which, in the churning maelstrom of my mind, gets repeatedly thrown to the surface whenever I consider my gardens – and that word is “more”. More in the veg patch, more for the kitchen, more in the borders and more of each thing. I’ve not bought a huge amount in plug form before, but I’ve a feeling that might be about to change. Sounds like trouble to me.

I am presently at the stage of sticking Post-It notes on those plants I want to procure from the catalogues. Currently, there appear to be more Post-It note than catalogue, and so either my bank balance, my back, or my sanity is likely to take a serious hit over the coming season. Quite possibly all three.

Setting myself up to fail? Almost certainly. But we’re a hopeful lot, we gardeners – and there’s always next year to get it right.

What resolutions, if any have you made for 2018 in the garden? I’d love to hear about them, either on twitter at @AndrewTimothyOB or in the comments below.

*I’m being a tad unfair to myself, as almost everything I think of or encounter on a daily basis gets sucked into Evernote, which catalogues things rather wonderfully and can even decipher my second best scrawl. I still like to keep a hand written diary, and have started to notice the odd looks people give me when producing my trusty Filofax from my bag.

]]>ResolutionNovember & December in the gardenInstagram reviewFurther readingAndrew O'BrienSun, 31 Dec 2017 11:51:28 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/november-december-in-the-garden56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a48b810e2c483236ce9fcfdIt’s new year’s eve, but I’ll leave the annual gardening retrospective for
others. For me, that doesn’t feel right till winter’s done and sowing seeds
can begin in earnest, and we’re not quite there yet, although the seed
catalogues are beginning to look well-thumbed. But I’ve not yet had a
chance to look back through November and December in the garden as seen
through my Instagram feed, so I hope you’ll join me as I review the past
couple of months.An Instagram retrospective of November & December 2017It’s new year’s eve, but I’ll leave the annual gardening retrospective for others. For me, that doesn’t feel right till winter’s done and sowing seeds can begin in earnest, and we’re not quite there yet, although the seed catalogues are beginning to look well-thumbed. But I’ve not yet had a chance to look back through November and December in the garden as seen through my Instagram feed, so I hope you’ll join me as I review the past couple of months.

More than half way through winter, and in truth it’s been a little changeable. No snow here in this part of Kent and, in spite of a bitingly cold spell at the beginning of December, we’re currently experiencing a fairly typical mild, damp and soggy end to the year. On the plus side, this makes spending time gardening rather more pleasant than the typical wintery conditions of my imagination.

Casting my mind back to the first days of November, autumn was languidly drawing itself out, seemingly in no particular hurry, which was just fine by me.

Plenty of time to enjoy planting some more cyclamen (C. cycilium, hederifolium and coum in this garden), and admiring the mature specimens alongside accidental sympathetic planting. If you can ever refer to what the natural world gets up to as ‘accidental’.

As the temperatures began to drop, the great Bringing In of the Pelargoniums began. An event which always fills me with dread, as I’ve not got a great record for nursing tender plants through the winter. Everything is still crossed...

The leaves seemed reluctant to fall this year, drawing out the annual task of shepherding them into bags and compost bins, there to break down in time to lovely crumbly soil conditioner. At the time, I thought this was a good thing, as it allowed me time to continue working in the beds, weeding and cutting back etc. But on balance, I don’t think it really made much difference to the position we’re in at the end of the year – everything that got needed to get done still got done (well, almost everything), but the variety in autumnal routine was welcome.

One month before Christmas (time really flying now, must be age), Great Dixter held its Christmas Plant Fair – a great excuse to wander through the gardens just after they’ve closed for the winter, as well as making the most of all the wonderful crafts and nurseries who’ve turned up to make the event such a success.

I do get a bit jealous when other parts of the country get snow. In the full knowledge that really, it’s a huge pain, and can be dangerous, there’s still the childish wonder of the pristine white blanket across the countryside. But there’s no time to stop, not just yet anyway.

And before you know it, a key date in the gardener’s calendar arrives – the winter solstice, end of the darkening nights. The older I get, the more I begin to see this as the main event over these festive weeks, a true cause for celebration.

But then there’s Christmas, time of traditions (though none as old as Christmas would have you believe). For us, it’s historically been a day spent mostly chuntering away on motorways, so sparkly lights and the dear faces of family are a welcome treat. And of course, a kiss under the poo-on-a-stick.

I'd love to hear how the last two months of 2017 have been in your garden. Let me know on twitter, or in the comments below. And a happy new year to you and all you love – thank you for reading and supporting Gardens, Weeds & Words throughout 2017, please come back next year!

]]>November & December in the gardenA day in the life of... Gardens, Weeds & Words Diary postFurther readingAndrew O'BrienTue, 26 Dec 2017 17:25:30 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/betwixtmas1756606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a427e10ec212d376f5fb23eMaking the most of Betwixtmas with some garden reading. What additions to
your gardening bookshelves did Christmas bring?

A brief dip into the journal of a garden blogger.

Betwixtmas

This post contains affiliate links

Boxing Day. Having crested two key festive peaks, we’re now well committed to the descent into that tranquil valley that lies beyond the winter solstice, between Christmas and New Year – Betwixtmas, I like to call it. A few days of peace to catch the breath, and to work out where we were before all the shopping and baking and wrapping and visiting pushed everything to the margins. Time to take long walks and space – if you’re fortunate to be allowed it – to gather thoughts, to sift through notebooks, to pick up a book or a seed catalogue and spend valuable moments toasting your toes before the fire. So what if the promising frosty weather of a fortnight ago has turned to mild mush? And so what if each step through the living room is accompanied by the tiny patter of needles abandoning their posts upon the ever more denuded branches of the crisping Christmas tree? I have some precious moments in which to catch up, books to read, and thoughts to be thunk. I’ve even got the tulips in before the end of the year. There’s a whole new twelve months coming up to fill with busyness. This Betwixtmas, I wish you the joy of the spaces in between.

What gardening books are you reading at the moment, and did you get any for Christmas? Let me know on twitter, or in the comments below.

]]>A day in the life of... Gardens, Weeds & WordsThe unquestionable hipness of houseplantsFurther readingAndrew O'BrienThu, 30 Nov 2017 23:48:50 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/houseplants56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a1f295c53450a6b7b4d2493Houseplants are fashionable again. Which only begs the question, how does
something as sensible as filling your home with inexpensively beautiful,
living, breathing organisms, go out of fashion in the first place? But no
time for pondering – first, I need to work out how NOT to kill them.Collecting houseplants is fashionable again. Which only begs the question, how does something as sensible as filling your home with inexpensively beautiful, living, breathing organisms, go out of fashion in the first place? But no time for pondering – first, I need to work out how NOT to kill them.

This post contains affiliate links

I am death to houseplants. I may have mentioned this before. I’ve a homicidal talent when it comes to sharing my indoor space with greenery, the roll of my victims extending to include aloes, figs, and even the supposedly indestructible spider plant. “Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here” should be carved above the back door every autumn, as the pelargoniums brought in to protect them from the frost take their final glance at the sky. Few make it through to spring.

So it was probably a bit rash to have decided this year to embrace the houseplant frenzy that’s been sweeping the developed world since the ripples of the 2008 crash, Trump, Brexit, and probably Simon Cowell (it's usually his fault) have all combined forces to ensure millennials haven’t the remotest chance of getting a house of their own without robbing a bank (an act clearly sanctioned solely for members of the banking profession), and have collectively come to the decision that they may as well spend their disposable cash on good coffee and indoor gardening. But embrace it I did, initially with the cunning plan of ensuring any plants inside the house were under Emma’s care, rather than my own. And so, to supplement a few succulents and cacti that had already made it into the house having leapt into our shopping bags at Flower & Glory in nearby Sevenoaks (I mean, we paid for them, but you know how things you had no intention of buying jump into your bag or shopping trolley. It’s how Kettle Chips get into the weekly grocery shop.), we signed up to the Plant Post Club from GeoFleur.

A curated collection

This is a fabulous scheme where, for your monthly subscription of £20, you receive a parcel containing a houseplant in a handmade container, with care instructions and notes on the maker of the pot, and usually some other kind of goodies as well. It’s all very well packaged, and the combinations are always interesting and the plants in good condition – it may not be the cheapest way to do it, but it makes an excellent present, and while one or two of the containers may not have been what we’d have chosen ourselves, we’ve enjoyed having our boundaries nudged by having someone else curate our collection for us.

Geofleur have are kindly offering a 15% discount on all the products in their online shop as well as membership of the Plant Post Club to readers of this blog. You can find details at the end of this post.

Canny shopping

Of course, canny shopping can save you a lot of money and, as few succulents and other houseplants don’t have particularly extensive root systems, you needn’t spend a fortune on the container either. Succulents are popping up in every retail environment now, from the DIY sheds to stationers – I saw a pack of three mini echiverias in Sainsburys last week. Ikea have a great selection, ranging from £2 for a small succulent to £67 for a shapely bonsai Ficus microcarpa.

It seems perfectly at home, and quite as stylish as anything we’ve had through the post.

It’s also worth checking the bargain racks of the houseplant section in your local garden centre. I’d been desperate to add the iconic swiss cheese plant to our domestic oasis for some time, but had been put off by the price, until I managed to find an ailing specimen with two or three blackened, crispy edged leaves in such a location.

Little over a fiver, and it’s a decent size. All it wanted was a feed, a shady location, and a water, though moderation is key with monsteras due to a tendancy to weep through the leaves (guttation), as I discovered when this one cried all over the freshly painted living room walls the day after allowing it to suck up all the moisture it wanted from the bathroom sink.

Rex begonias

These were a gamble, but I’d seen the wonderful displays of fabulously patterned and tactile leaves in rich, deep colours from Dibleys nursery at some of the RHS plant shows over the years, and their catalogue is so tempting I couldn’t help but order four, in spite of my poor record. They arrived as decent size plug plants in the post, at which point I potted them on into 9cm pots for about two months, before moving them on again into 12cm pots (which sit inside larger textured concrete containers from Cox & Cox). The key to their growth and continued survival seems to have been a weekly feed (I’m using up an old bottle of BabyBio but will try switching to the seaweed-based MaxiCrop I use outside when this runs out), and paying close attention to their watering requirements. Which doesn’t mean drowning them, but also doesn’t mean letting them desiccate (I’ve done both to houseplants in the past – hence how I managed to off the spider plant). So when the standard advice tells you to go easy on watering over the winter, watch the plant for signs of wilting, particularly if you’re using a very free draining peat-free compost.

Begonia 'Fireworks'

Next year I’ll be experimenting with adding varying quantities of coir and perlite to my houseplant composts, but that’s a job for spring – let’s get one whole growing season out of the way first and see who survives. So far, it’s looking good.

But I wouldn’t want to speak too soon.

Do you have much luck with houseplants? I’d love to hear your stories and experiences, either on twitter or in the comments below.

For 15% off everything on Geofleur’s website, including plants, pots and membership of the Plant Post Club, use the discount code ANDREW when checking out.

]]>The unquestionable hipness of houseplantsOctober in the gardenInstagram reviewFurther readingAndrew O'BrienTue, 07 Nov 2017 16:04:53 +0000http://www.gardensweedsandwords.com/gwwblog/october-in-the-garden56606f87e4b0527b5cb99007:56676e8d8169240427d20310:5a01c4158165f56ac4b64a0cOctober has been mild and mainly dry in Kent, many trees still in leaf at
the end of the month and no sign of a frost with sufficient bite to blacken
the stems of the dahlias, which have flowered right through. There’s even
some colour left in the borders, with salvias performing particularly well,
and annuals like cosmos continuing to bloom with gusto. How long can it
last?An Instagram retrospective of October 2017

October has been mild and mainly dry in Kent, many trees still in leaf at the end of the month and no sign of a frost with sufficient bite to blacken the stems of the dahlias, which have flowered right through. There’s even some colour left in the borders, with salvias performing particularly well, and annuals like cosmos continuing to bloom with gusto. How long can it last?

This is a time of year when, as the flowers begin to fade, you really start to appreciate texture in the garden.

Of course, it’s also the beginning of a period of several weeks when most gardeners are distracted from caring for their plants by the annual job of leaf clearing. I pretend to consider it a chore, but I don’t think anyone’s fooled into thinking I find it anything other than great fun.

The light, of course, takes full advantage of the absence of chlorophyll in the autumnal foliage, and spends these months showing off by creating incendiary spectacles from any leaf sufficiently obliging to present its face to the sun’s rays.